Howling Vengeance by H.M. Clarke

Author:H.M. Clarke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction Small Towns, Action adventure 19th Century, murder mystery detective, werewolf shapeshifter, Amateur Sleuth, murder Vigilante Justice, cowboy western
Publisher: H.M. Clarke
Published: 2016-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

“Dead!”

“Yes Sir. Someone caved his head in from behind,” Bill answered.

“Did anyone see it?” McCall could not believe this was happening.

Bill Williams shook his head. “No one saw anything, no one even knew the man who gave the message about claim jumpers to Bule.”

McCall rubbed a finger over his lips in thought. “Whoever killed Bule is most probably the same person who killed Schroeder. He was probably near enough at hand to hear Billy talking about Hugo and to see Bule talking to him.”

McCall looked up at Williams.

“Did you get a good look at the man who came and talked to Bule?”

Again Williams shook his head. “No. Not really. All I saw was his scar. But Billy might of got a better look. I sent him to go and get the Sheriff.”

“Good man,” John said and was about to say more when the rumble of voices suddenly overwhelmed the noise of the street.

Both men turned to see a large group of angry miners suddenly come out from between the buildings that separated the town from the Miners’ Camp and start shoving their way down Main Street, undoubtedly going to the Sheriff’s Office.

If Frank wasn’t careful he might have a lynch mob on his hands. The group sounded like they were baying for blood and did not care who got the noose as long as someone paid the price.

“Come on Bill, Frank might need some help,” John said as customers from the Loch Lomond spilled out onto the boardwalk to see what was happening.

Gelston joined them as they made their way quickly through the crowd towards the Sheriff’s Office, and both John and Bill quickly informed him of what was happening.

“With the man dead, you now do not have anyone to back James Hugo’s claim that he went gambling last night,” Gelston said as they neared the Lincoln.

The mob in the street was keeping pace with them despite the horses and wagons milling in the street.

Then, from around the corner came Frank Evans. The Sheriff had stopped dead in his tracks on seeing the crowd of miners when John and his group reached him.

“What the hell is going on John?” Frank asked, his annoyance plain on his face. At least Frank was not worried about the mob. “I was having lunch when your man told me that someone has been murdered and that I’d better get out to the Miners’ Camp. Now I find that the Miners’ Camp has come to me.” The large streak of brown gravy that still clung to the Sheriff’s shirt front was proof of that.

John quickly explained to Frank what had happened. It was when John was finishing his story that the mob spotted the Sheriff standing outside of the Lincoln.

“There he is-”, “He’s here-”, “Show him-”

The crowd of miners surged towards the Lincoln Saloon and Frank moved quickly to the edge of the boardwalk, hands raised high to try and calm the crowd.

“All right, all right. I know you’re here. Just calm down and tell me what the Hell is goin’ on.

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